


When Has a Deal Ever Worked Out?

by Cynthia_Silver, orphan_account



Series: Destiel Smut [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Begging, Bondage, Demon Dean Winchester, Dubious Consent, Grace Sex, Grace Sharing, Knifeplay, M/M, Masturbation, Nearly Human Castiel, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Porn With Plot, Possession, Sex Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 09:31:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3376523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cynthia_Silver/pseuds/Cynthia_Silver, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel makes a deal with Dean.  Dean doesn't want a soul in return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Has a Deal Ever Worked Out?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Coldplaying_In_The_TARDIS](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coldplaying_In_The_TARDIS/gifts).



> Warnings for dubcon ahead

Castiel shivered against the cold breeze and hunched his shoulders, leaning more into the hood of the Lincoln Continental that had been his transportation since he lost his wings.  Then he briefly marveled at the fact that he could shiver.  After eons of feeling his existence as a wavelength, a divine being unbounded by time or space, Castiel could not accept his humanity so soon.  It had been only months, after all, and now he was confined to a human body, caged in its odd aches and strange desires as Lucifer himself had been caged in Hell.

Cas had never felt so… disconnected.  For thousands of thousands of years, he had been able to feel grace pouring into him from the power of the host of heaven.  He had once felt the grace of every angel combined with his, loving, caressing, but now, Cas had been confined to his vessel, his wings clipped, and his grace alone and dying.  Castiel was dying.  That was new.

Cas looked to the stars he had once counted and circled with his brothers, jovial in their Father’s wondrous creation.  He now found them cold and distant, peering through him apathetically.  Their emptiness forced Castiel to remember his own.  A pang of regret caused him to look down at his dusty shoes.  A coughing fit wracked his body, bumping it erratically against the car and causing a tear to form, salty, under Castiel’s lashes.

He had never meant for any of this to happen.  Dean should not have been lying cold on his mattress for Crowley to take and use for whatever ends he had devised.  Sam should not be (undoubtedly) attempting to drink away the terror and unimaginable grief of losing his brother, a fate he had struggled through years and apocolypses to avoid.  Now Dean was dead, and Castiel had no power to bring him back. 

A feeble puff of dust bloomed from the underside of Cas’s shoe as he kicked it absently, clearing his throat.  Cas watched it with his eyes as it drifted towards the motel door and died there.  Beyond that door, Cas new, waited Hannah.  She was loyal and naïve; a dangerous combination, Castiel had learned.  He should go to her, seek comfort in her, find faith with her.  He knew he could do none of those things.  Hannah could not give the wisdom she did not have, and she could not feel with the empathy she was just beginning to grasp.

No, Cas would reconcile himself with the fact that Dean was dead, or as good as dead.  Whatever Crowley had done to him… Dean couldn't possibly be Dean anymore.

~*~

Dean _felt._   It was more than simply sensation of the give of the flesh under his blade.  It was raw power flooding through his too-hot blood.  It seared his insides and invigorated him.  He would need no sleep, he knew.  He would need no food, or drink, or sex as long as he had the feeling of life giving way to him, fleeing from its container through slit throats or pumping through speared hearts.  Oh, but he would want these things, and Dean Winchester had waited so very long to get what he wanted.  Now Dean Winchester would always get what he wanted because there was nothing in hell or on earth that could stop him.

Darkness pressed at his eyes, though it seemed to make the world brighter to Dean.  He blinked, and saw the world complete in a way it never had been when he was human.  He saw the last remnants of soul escape the body on the floor.  It seemed dim, lackluster.  This guy had been scum, so the condition of his descending soul was not a surprise to Dean.

It did bother Dean slightly that it had been Crowley picking out his victims for him.  Dean was done with taking orders.  No, this was… this was taking advantage of a convenience provided to him.  Yes.  He had the power kill anyone he wanted to kill whenever he wanted to kill them.  The Mark itched with the thought, but soon faded.  It had, after all, just been fed. 

A mirror beckoned to Dean from across the room.  Stepping over the body, Dean eagerly examined his new face.  It was his face, yes, but through the darkness in his eyes he could also see his _true_ face, his demon face.  It was a beautiful thing.  His features were human in shape but somehow betrayed a predatory intensity.  Dark energy crawled across his human face in serpentine figures, mirrored on each side.  Six small spikes protruded crown-like from the top of his head in perfect symmetry, curling subtly inward at the top.  It was a crown worthy of a knight of Hell. 

Dean blinked away the darkness and saw now only his human face.  It had flecks of blood strewn across it rather than tendrils of demonic grace.  On a whim it all vanished, leaving him appearing clean and cutting.  This seemed more than adequate for Dean.  After all, he would hate to ruin the atmosphere of his favorite strip club with panicked voices pointing out bloody hands.  It spoiled the fun.

~*~

Cas never knew how much one phone call could hurt until a few hours ago.  Had it been hours? He could cope with Dean being dead.  It would be tremendous, but it would be a natural thing.  Hearing Sam’s voice saying the words that meant that Dean was a demon, however, had sent ice through his veins and caused his heart to give up, momentarily, its movement, its steady pumping of human life through Castiel’s veins.  Cas felt that he would not have minded had it never started again.

He stared out the passenger window onto the highway, watching as half-dead trees swayed with the force of the cars whisking by them.  It had occurred to Cas long ago that he loved Dean Winchester.  He loved Dean for his crude humor and his shimmering soul, his tenacity and stubbornness.  Dean’s capacity for hope when there was none constantly astounded Cas. 

With Castiel’s descent into humanity had come a few more base realizations.  Castiel found Dean’s body very attractive, though he was not certain if that was simply his love translated into a human desire, or if it was something entirely created by his vessel.  He only craved this physical contact when his grace was absent or fading, as it was now. 

Another series of jarring coughs ran their course through Castiel.  Hannah swerved the vehicle in her concern, glancing over to Castiel as the fit subsided.  Without warning, she took the next exit.

“What are you doing?”  Wheezed Castiel.  “We need to find Sam.  We don’t have ti—“ More coughs cut short his argument as Hannah shook her head, a human gesture she had picked up from Cas.

“You need rest, Castiel, and you aren’t getting it in this vehicle.  We need to stop so you may sleep for a few hours.”  The concern in her voice was penetrating.

Castiel glared at her.  “No! There isn’t time for us to stop every time I cough.”  She remained steadfast under his scrutiny.  “Hannah, are you listening to me?  We need to find Dean.”

She was silent until she had parked in front of the first motel they could find.  “I will search for information on Dean’s whereabouts while you rest.  This is not time wasted, Castiel.  You need to have your strength for this,” she soothed before getting out of the car.  Cas reluctantly followed, feeling wearier with each step.  He allowed Hannah to check out a room with one bed for him.  Were he not so worried, he might have been grateful as he sat on the edge of the bed, now alone with his fears.

Cas began to undress, tossing his heavy coat and suit onto the mattress and stepping out of shoes and pants until he wore nothing but a pair of boxers.  He pulled the scratchy bathrobe from the back of the bathroom door and tossed it on, leaving it untied.  Cas flopped down onto the bed beside some of his clothing and stared into the ceiling, unable to concern his thoughts with anything but Dean. 

His thoughts, though originally concentrated on his current situation, soon wandered to more pleasant times and memories.  From here Castiel began to think of all the times that never were, all the things that could have been.  When Cas looked up, he found himself to be noticeably aroused.

He eyed himself curiously and considered ignoring it, but upon remembering how Dean usually dealt with erections, suddenly found himself with a bigger problem.  He began to touch himself, lightly at first, testing how each stroke felt against his swollen flesh.  He then began to wonder how Dean would have done this, and started to imagine Dean’s hands instead of his own, stroking him harder and faster until he came with Dean’s name on his tongue. 

~*~

Dean sipped his whiskey contentedly as he eyed the dancers, both male and female, erotically moving before him.  He would no longer have to suppress his desires.  He no longer felt the need to deny his attraction to men.  Why should he when he could slit the throat of anyone who dared criticize him?

He noticed a young woman, voluptuous in body, swaying with the music in the crowd.  Downing his shot in one last gulp, Dean shouldered his way through the crowd, eyes on his target.  The girl turned and, spotting a pursuer, winked at him and smiled coyly, sloppy with booze.  Dean winked back, resisting the urge to turn his eyes black just for the hell of it. 

He was about to ask the girl if he could buy her another drink (flirting was practically an instinct to him, demon or not) when he felt this urgent _tug_ at his… soul? Heart?  Being, insistent and solid.  He looked within himself and examined the tugging and found that it was a deep, deep longing.  There were only so many people who could possibly be longing for him in such a way, so who? 

Dean allowed curiosity to guide him, and without a second thought towards the girl he willed himself towards the source of the pull. 

~*~

Dean found himself in a dingy motel room, much like any he had ever seen, and saw on the bed Castiel, former angel of the Lord, with his head thrown back, eyes shut, and his hand in between his legs, pumping hard.  He was panting now in soft _ah, ah_ s, and Dean watched with some amusement as he bucked once up and down on the mattress. 

“D-Dean..Deaaan,” groaned Castiel as he came apart.  Dean couldn’t help but smile wryly at this.

“You call, angel?”  Cas’s eyes flew open, still hazy with pleasure, and focused on Dean, face bewildered.

“Where did… How did you find me?”  Castiel demanded, still panting and struggling to find some sort of composure.

Dean gave a short _tut tut_ and shook his head, still smiling.  “Castiel.  I really didn’t expect _you_ to be on the other end of that frantic pull.”  When Cas just stared, confused, Dean added, “What, you don’t think angels are the only ones who can feel longing, do you?  Except,” he continued, now sauntering towards Cas “You weren’t just _longing_ for me, were you angel?”  With one swipe of his hand, Dean swept away the sheets to expose Castiel on the bed, belly covered in semen and cock hanging out of his boxers.  “You were downright _lusting_ after me.”

Cas shuddered and covered himself up with the bathrobe, unable to meet Dean’s gaze.  “Look at yourself, Castiel.  Human.  _Needy,_ ” crowed Dean as he came closer still.  “There was so much lust in you that I felt it four states over,” he added.

This provoked Cas’s attention.  Now he saw clearly the demonic shades Dean’s face had taken.  He watched tendrils of black smoke curl around Dean’s cheeks and saw the darkness fall off of his crown.  His heart twisted for what he had lost and what had taken Dean’s place.  “There’s much to say for you in that regard, too, Dean,” said Cas quietly, regaining his breath as the silvery handle of his angel blade glinted from the folds of his coat out of the corner of his eye.  “Look at what you’ve become.  A demon.”

Dean’s eyes flicked black at this, completing the darkness.  “Glad you noticed, Castiel.” 

Suddenly Cas lunged for the blade.  He only managed to touch it before Dean flung him into the headboard with his demonic strength and pinned him there in a sitting position with a thought.  “Cas, I’ve gotta say, I’m hurt,” he said, picking up the angel blade as he straddled Cas’s lap.  Cas grit his teeth as he felt the pressure on every part of his body. 

Dean waved the angel blade in front of Castiel, point towards Cas’s sternum, but not touching it.  “What were you planning on doing with this thumb tack?  _Killing me?_ ” Dean questioned incredulously.  Cas tried a little desperately to move his head even an inch away, but he couldn’t.  “You know that wouldn’t do anything to me,” Dean lifted the point to Cas’s throat, causing Cas to grunt faintly, snarling.  “But you, on the other hand… Well,” Dean dragged the tip down Cas’s chest, leaving small scratches along the way, before stopping with the tip tugging at Castiel’s boxers.  “You, this would hurt,” he breathed into Cas’s ear.

Panic filled Cas’s eyes, though he would never allow his expression to betray it.  “You don’t have to do this,” grunted Castiel.  Each word was a tremendous effort through the pressure on his chest.  “Dean, you’re… you’re still in there, somewhere.”

“You’re right,” replied Dean, still inches away from Castiel’s face. Cas’s eyes widened. “I don’t have to do anything,” whispered Dean menacingly.  The faint hope that Cas had allowed himself in that moment crashed into the pit of his stomach. 

Dean suddenly tossed the angel blade behind him, not caring where it landed.  Cas let out a faint breath with the dagger out of Dean’s hand.  “What are you going to do then if you’re not going to kill me?”  Cas retorted, encouraged by the blade’s absence.

Dean seemed to think about this for a moment.  He let his eyes flick to black. “I could fuck you,” Dean purred.  “I’ve seen the way you’ve been staring at me Cas. Don’t pretend this isn’t what you want, that you weren’t jacking off to this same scenario just five minutes ago and _really_ enjoying it.”  Dean did not move.

Cas was silent for a moment.  “Not like this…” he said quietly, inwardly fighting his growing arousal.  “Not while you’re a demon.”

Dean only grinned a little more wickedly.  “Oh, come on!  Hasn’t Sammy told you about just how much fun a little demon action can be?”  He paused, let his black eyes stare into Cas’s blue ones.  “You don’t want to now?  Fine,” He scoffed.  “Hell, even Lucifer needed a yes,” said Dean.  He may have changed over the past few months, but he would never allow himself to be worse than that maggot Lucifer. 

“Right now you’ve got a little problem, I see.  Almost out of angel juice! Well,” he pulled backwards, unrelenting in the force he was applying to Castiel to keep his body pinned to the headboard, his arms pinned beside him.  “I’ve got just the thing.” 

Cas questioned him with his eyes because speaking was becoming too difficult.

Dean opened his hand and allowed the angel blade to fly back into it before sidling up against Castiel.  “What are you-?” Protested Cas breathlessly as he felt the blade slice the flesh- and remaining grace- above his heart.  He shouted in pain. 

Dean drew the blade away from Cas and sliced at his own palm.  A wisp of black smoke trailed up from it, hovering above the skin in a plume.  Dean hovered his hand, palm-and-wisp-side up, next to the glowing gash on Castiel’s chest, and, pursing his lips, blew the smoke into the wound.

Cas hissed and struggled, feeling as though salt had been poured into the gash.  Dean only watched Cas writhe for a moment before he touched the wound and forced it to close itself back up.

Suddenly Cas found the pressure released, and he sagged without meaning to against Dean, feeling the wisp burn dully within him.  Dean chuckled deep within his throat, and Cas, realizing his position, scrambled backwards, hitting his head with a thump.  “What did you do to me?”  Cas demanded, even as he felt the strange energy flow up, towards his head, dulling the pain. 

Dean peered at Cas from his position on top of him.  “I’m only lending you a part of yourself.  Do you remember pulling me from hell, angel? Remember trying to stitch my soul back together with your grace?  Well, you left a piece,” Dean growled, “and now it’s mine.”

At this, Dean lifted a finger in the air, and as he did so, Cas felt the twisted grace begin to stir within him, swirling around through his body and angelic grace as Dean commanded it with the swishes of his fingers.  Dean clenched his fist, and Cas clutched at his chest, feeling as though he were being crushed from the inside.  Now Dean spread his fingers smoothly and soothingly, and the pain subsided until it was replaced by a pleasant stroking sensation over Castiel’s tender grace that had not been touched like this in years.  Cas leaned his head back and whimpered softly with the pain, pleasure, and fear he felt.  There was no use in even trying to keep face now, not now that Dean was _inside_ of him, and capable of doing anything he wanted to Castiel besides.

Dean allowed the darkness to intertwine with Castiel’s dying grace, filling out the holes and gashes with his own essence.  “You put me back together once.  I only want to return the favor,” Dean said, the smile vanished from his face.  Cas could barely hear him through the pounding noise of blood and grace in his ears.  “Of course, being a demon, I have couple of conditions.”  Dean ceased the motion of his hand and allowed Cas to regain himself before continuing on with his deal. 

A thousand emotions filled Castiel as he waited for Dean to give his demands.  “Do I really have a choice?” he deadpanned.

Dean ignored the question.  “I’ll leave that wisp of your grace mixed mine inside you for a few days.  When your mojo is like new, I’ll come to collect.”

“You forget I don’t have a soul to sell you,” Cas replied, glad for the momentary stillness in his grace. 

“I know that.  What I want, what I _really_ want,” Dean leaned forward, close enough that Cas could feel his breath on the shell of his ear.  “is you.”

The mattress quivered as Dean leaned back measuredly to rest on Castiel’s thighs.  “So.  Quick recap.  I heal you up, add on a few more weeks to your life before your grace burns out, let you recharge and heal yourself or whatever it is you do with that angel juice of yours, and all I want in return is for you to give yourself up to me completely when I come back.”

The offer hung in the air as Castiel considered it.  It was true, he needed the time to find a cure for Dean and restore order to heaven, and he wasn’t going to kill any more of his brothers just to prolong his own life.  But ‘completely’ could mean many things to Dean, and Cas had to suppress a shiver at all the implications, some more pleasant than others. “And what if I say no?” Cas prompted finally.

“If you don’t agree to my terms,” answered Dean, narrowing his ebony eyes, “I’ll leave.  Simple as that.  I’ll take my strength from you and I’ll vanish.  You might not see me again before your grace fades, though, so if you do say no, you’d better tell your girlfriend to drive fast.”

Air swooshed into the space Dean left behind as he teleported to the near wall to lean against it, arms crossed.  Cas immediately swung his legs off the bed and stood shakily in front of Dean, staring him down.  Dean waited patiently in silence. One step.  Another.  Now Cas was close enough to reach out and touch Dean if he wanted to.  Two more steps closed the distance, leaving only an inch of space between them.

“Do we have a deal?” asked Dean, voice rough.  He blinked his eyes back to their natural appearance.

Cas searched the green eyes for anything that would betray that Dean Winchester could be saved.  They beckoned him forward, and within a moment Castiel felt his lips press into Dean’s.  Dean dug his fingers roughly into Castiel’s sides, pulling him in closer, and all but shoving his tongue into Cas’s mouth, nipping, tasting, claiming.  Cas did not fight the kiss, but instead let himself fall into it.  He felt the darkness twist inside him and caress his grace and he almost moaned.

Then Dean was gone, leaving Cas bereft with swollen lips and a darkness that continued to swim within him, pressing, reminding, whispering _soon_.

~*~

Castiel did not tell Hannah about his deal.  She didn’t have to know, would only panic and question him.  When she found him lying on the bed the next morning, she thought he looked better than he had the night before and could only assume the sleep had helped.  The next day Cas spent riding silently next to Hannah, monitoring silently the actions of the demonic grace with in him.

Most of the time, Dean’s essence simply worked through Castiel’s grace, restoring it.  It produced a numb tingling within Cas which he could ignore if he chose.  Other times he could hear it whispering to him, words like _mine_ and _want_ and _use_.  Once or twice he had felt it trail like fingertips slowly down to his groin and then quickly back up again before it reached.  These times, Hannah had given Cas concerned glances as he tensed and let out unsteady breaths, earning him a ‘Castiel, are you alright?’ from her.  He would always assure her of his stability, that he was fine. 

The sun eventually began to dip below the horizon, and they had made little progress due to one flat tire and too much traffic.  Cas began to consider that he might have to stay in another motel tonight and began to worry.  Would Dean visit him in the night?  He wasn’t ready to face Dean again yet.  “Hannah,” he began slowly, “You see that I am much better now, don’t you?”

“Yes Castiel.  Some rest did you good.”

“I don’t think we should stop tonight.  We didn’t make much progress today and-“

“Nonsense.  The man who replaced our tire said that the one we’re using won’t hold.  We need to find a new one before we continue.  It only makes sense that you should rest while I find another.”

“I could search for more information while you find a tire.”

“Castiel.  Your grace is dying.  You need to save your energy.”

Castiel knew that further argument would only rouse her suspicion.  He didn’t protest when Hannah found him another room for the night and drove away without him.  Knowing he wouldn’t sleep that night, he turned on the television and kept his clothes on, settling into the room’s stiff armchair.

He tried to ignore the swirling in his chest, the murmured _still me, still Dean…_ from it.  Suddenly it began to move upward, towards his back, and Cas’s heart began to beat faster. He knew Dean had to be doing this intentionally.  As if in response, he heard _relax_ and began to feel the muscles of his back being tensed and relaxed all at once.  He melted into the sensation and shut his eyes.  Soon the essence spread, like a wave of heat slipping down his back.  Soon the heat began to pool low in his belly.  The heat filled up his groin and soon he felt the sensation of the corrupted grace swirling around his growing erection agonizingly slowly, forcing his cock to strain against his pants.

Cas gripped the arms of the chairs as pressure was applied to his slit and around the head of his cock, swirling teasingly.  Now he felt as Dean, from some remote place, dragged the grace down his length to rub insistently the sensitive spot between his balls.  Cas groaned and gripped tighter, his knuckles showing white, legs spreading wider. 

Suddenly Cas couldn’t bear the slowness and reached down to unzip his pants, but as he did so, his arms were flung back down to the arms of the chair.  Cas was aching from need as he whispered, “Dean, please,” into the empty air.  The slow rubbing persisted, up and down his length, for a moment before Cas felt his belt undoing itself.  When his zipper unlatched, he moaned at the ceiling from the small release that granted.  His pants were pulled by Dean’s unseen force off of Cas’s legs and left in a heap on the floor.

The grace began to move down, past Castiel’s erection and began rolling against his prostate hard enough to put a faint edge of whiteness around Cas’s vision, but just not enough to put him over the edge.  “Dean,” Cas moaned, thrusting his hips. 

 _Castiel_ , he heard Dean’s voice say from behind him, though it was not tangible.  _I’m going to release your hands now.  If you touch yourself, I will punish you later for it.  Understand?_

Cas’s hands jerked up from where he had been resisting and his eyes flew open.  The rolling against his sweet spot did not let up, however, and Cas groaned out a curse in Enochian.  What was Dean playing at here?  That was his last coherent thought as the rolling suddenly changed direction, causing Cas to gasp and grit his teeth.  Every ounce of his willpower was quickly draining.  It was not long before Cas bent to the temptation and reached down to stroke himself.  He came hard and with a shout and soon drifted off into a deep sleep.

It was not until several hours later, when he awoke in the still-dark hours, that he realized what he had done, what had happened.  Cas damned his human instincts as he cleaned himself off and replaced his clothing.  That was when he noticed the absence of movement in his grace.  His grace must be mended now which meant…

“Hello, angel.”

Cas whirled around to find Dean standing behind the chair, smug grin plastered on his face as usual.  “I’ve come to collect.”  Cas stepped backwards away from Dean.  “Cas,” Dean singsonged, “You made a deal.  It’s time to pay up.”

“What, I haven’t paid yet? Then what the hell was that?” shouted Cas defiantly. 

“Oh.  _That_ ,” Dean said, stepping forward, “was my method of finding you.  Your lust pulls me in like a vampire to a flesh wound.”

“You said you were going to punish me,” said Cas, voice low.  Dean appeared in front of Cas, backing him into a wall and holding him by his hips.  Dean leaned into Cas and kissed him tenderly yet firmly, soothing with his tongue.

“I never said you were going to regret it,” said Dean as he pulled away.  Cas blinked, and suddenly he and Dean were in an unfamiliar room.  It was mostly dark, illuminated by a few candles, and had a bed covered in silk sheets in the center.

Dean suddenly grabbed Castiel’s wrist and pulled it towards his gut.  Cas did not feel flesh, as he had expected, but Dean’s bare soul.  “Do you feel that, Castiel?” asked Dean as earnestly as he could muster.  “My soul’s not that much different than it was when you put it back together.”

This was true; it held the same shape and texture, though some parts had shriveled while others had swollen.  There was a large portion missing.  Cas felt it resonate within himself.  “When I say it’s still Dean in here,” said the demon, almost pleadingly, “I’m not lying to you.”  Dean let go of Cas’s wrist and stepped away from him, eyeing him up hungrily.  “Now, do you give yourself up to me, completely?”

The last of Castiel’s fear for his well-being slipped away somewhere.  This really was Dean standing in front of him right now.  He wasn’t bloodthirsty in this moment.  There wasn’t threat in his green eyes. All he wanted was Cas, and Cas had wanted to give himself to Dean since the day he saw the beauty of his soul, no less beautiful now that he was a demon than it was when he had been torturing in hell or even when he was a human, filled with sadness and guilt.  Cas saw only Dean when his lips parted and he whispered “Yes.”

A faint smile slipped onto Dean’s face.  “Good,” he said.  “Now do what I say.  Get rid of your clothes.”

Cas shucked off layer after layer as Dean watched him with undisguised lust.  Finally he stood naked and exposed in front of Dean, waiting for another order.  Dean snapped his fingers and his clothing disappeared, revealing his bare chest.  Castiel noticed that the hand print was gone.  “Where-?” Began Cas.

“It’s in you.”  Cas felt the grace expand within him.  “Now shut up.”  Dean sealed his mouth over Cas’s, taking his time, tasting him and owning him.  A quick tug of Cas’s hair caused Cas to gasp, allowing Dean further entrance.  Cas grasped at Dean’s bare back as he pushed them onto the bed.  Dean stopped kissing long enough to materialize a pair of handcuffs inscribed with angelic binding runes.  Cas didn’t struggle when Dean cuffed him to a bedpost, only groaned and shuddered with anticipation.  “This is your punishment,” growled Dean, voice gruff.  

Dean produced an angel blade, and Cas’s blood turned to ice.  “Dean, no, d-don’t…”  Cas begged, shrinking into himself, cursing himself for falling into this trap, all of his original fear coming back full force.

“I’m not going to kill you, Cas,” explained Dean, but that did nothing to calm Cas.  Dean tried a different tactic and leaned over to bite Cas on the lip.  Cas gasped at the unexpected sensation of pleasure that accompanied the sharp pain.  When Dean licked at the lip, he felt a dull ache with the soothing sensation.  “These cuffs aren’t just for keeping you still,” said Dean, mischief in his voice.  “Pain is pleasure is pain, is pleasure…  You can’t have one without the other,” he said, “until I say you can.”

Castiel’s mouth went dry.  Dean hovered over Castiel and drew the blade in a thin, shallow cut across his chest.  Cas moaned with pleasure and bucked his hips upward in an attempt to get friction.  He did, but backed away when he felt a sharp pain accompany the feeling he sought.  He groaned, unsure of how to respond.

Dean made small cuts here and there along Cas’s body, watching him writhe and enjoying  every twist of his body.  Cas tugged at his restraints, needing purchase, something to hold onto as the electric feelings coursed through him.  Dean licked at each wound, and hearing Cas whimper beneath him sent tingles down his spine.

He toyed with Cas with the blade and with his tongue until he saw Cas growing pale.  “Heal yourself,” Dean commanded, and Cas shivered as their joint grace washed over the blood, clearing it, and leaving the skin untouched as before.  “Now lift your knees.”  Cas obeyed, cock curled up to his belly.  

Without warning, Dean sank one finger into Castiel’s hole, sending shock waves through him as he shouted.  Dean shoved another finger in, stretching Cas out too quickly, and Cas let out a broken cry as Dean began to scissor Cas open.  During this process, Cas had begun to plead again, begging in shattered moans as he dripped onto his stomach.

When Cas was wide enough, he snapped his fingers, causing the spell that had entwined pleasure and pain to evaporate, so that when Dean pushed into Cas, Cas felt him as he should.  Dean moaned softly into Cas’s shoulder and gripped his legs tightly as he began to thrust, feeling the tight warmth all around him.  Dean willed the grace to begin stroking Cas as it had before, and Cas gave a strangled moan.  Dean kissed Cas roughly as they began to roll their hips together, creating a rhythm, and soon, Cas had his legs wrapped around Dean, pulling him in as their grace did much the same.  

Cas felt as Dean hit his sweet spot again and again with unerring accuracy, and the sensation was too much.  He came with a wrecked sob and felt as the corrupted grace left him and fled back into Dean.  Dean followed and bit down on Cas’s neck as he came hard into the former angel, panting.  

When the last aftershock had left Dean, he reached up above Cas and freed his wrists, kissing him as he did so.  Cas clung to Dean, to this demon, and felt a hot tear run down his cheek as he whispered “Please let me cure you,” into Dean’s mouth.  “You don’t have to do this.”

Dean’s black eyes were the last thing Cas saw before he found himself in the motel room’s armchair, fully clothed, alone once more.

 


End file.
